


For Love

by mourninghope (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Love, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:53:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1555817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/mourninghope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles works a simple bit of magic to help Derek find himself again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Love

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from my two hard to write pieces! So here. Have a bit of unconditional love!

Stiles danced his fingers through the air, pausing over each smoothly polished crystal and semi-precious stone that lay scattered atop a small scrap of black velvet. “This one,” he said, pointing to a piece of amethyst as big as his fist. “And these two,” he added as he tapped a polished round of clear quartz two inches in diameter and a smaller, pale-pink piece of rose quartz. 

“Interesting choice,” Deaton mused. “Explain, please.” 

“Amethyst for its cleansing and protective properties, as well as for its ability to enhance psychic gifts. Quartz for further cleansing and balancing. The rose quartz… That’s for love. That’s because I love him.” 

“Because you love him? Not to make him love you? You could you know, with the right push. The right, spark, if you will.” Deaton arched a brow at the teen as he swept the unclaimed stones into an inky black pouch. 

Stiles blushed and shook his head. “Maybe I could but I wouldn’t. Love shouldn’t be forced. It shouldn’t be coerced or it’s not real. It’s not worth it.” 

Deaton smiled warmly and wrapped the three stones in the velvet, tying the makeshift bag with a bit of red string before handing it to Stiles. “I have a gift for you, Stiles. A couple of them actually. I was going to wait until your birthday but I think you could use them now.” 

“Deaton, you didn’t have to get me anything and you totes don’t have to give it to me now.” Stiles grinned, quick and bright, and bounced on his toes, watching the older man as he drifted to the old curio cabinet in the corner.

“Oh, I know but… I have a feeling that you’ll do something good with it. That you need it.” Pulling a large brass key from beneath the color of his shirt, Deaton unlocked the cabinet and retrieved a large wooden box. Its lid was curved the way Stiles imagined the lid of a pirate’s trunk might be, engraved with a stylized tree of life, inlaid with gold and silver. 

“Oh, wow,” Stiles whispered reverently, fingers drifting out to trace the design. “Deaton, it’s gorgeous.” He sucked in a hard breath as his fingers skimmed the triskele nestled at the base of the trunk. “And powerful. Or, rather, whatever is inside of it is powerful or has the potential for power. I can’t quite tell.” 

“Or all of the above.” Chuckling, Deaton set the chest down and slid a small silver and gold key across the old table. “Open it, Stiles.” 

Fingers shaking, Stiles unlocked the box, then pulled a slim silver chain from around his neck. He’d wondered, when Deaton had given him the simple gold pentacle, what the small clasp on the bottom of it was for. Now, he knew; he carefully attached the key, then slipped the chain over his head, tucking it beneath his shirt to settle over the rapid thrum of his heart. Taking three slow, deep breaths, he forced his mind to center and his heart to slow, then gently lifted the lid. He plucked at the shimmering black fabric pooled on top and drew it out of the box, gasping as a translucent ritual robe unfolded in his hands; he draped the robe over his shoulder and reached into the box to lift out a second, smaller box as intricately carved as the chest, though this time with a series jewel encrusted knot work vines; this box had a simple hasp that opened with a flick of Stiles’ thumb to reveal a silver blade with a crescent shaped pommel, inlaid with iridescent mother-of-pearl. “My, gods, Deaton…” 

“Before you say it, Stiles, it is not too much. In fact, it cost me precisely nothing.” Smiling, Deaton walked around the table to stand behind the teen, resting his hands on the slender shoulders. “It was your mother’s. I simply held it in trust until you were ready as per her instructions.” 

Shaking, Stiles closed the slim box and laid it aside. Nestled at the bottom of the box was a large book, bound in worn black leather; it was held closed by an ornate silver lock. 

“The key also fits the lock on the Grimoire. However, even with the key, no one who is not of your blood can open the book.” He gave Stiles’ shoulders a comforting squeeze, then helped the teen repack the chest. 

“Mom… She practiced,” he asked, setting the makeshift bag of gemstones into the chest; closing it, he rested his hands on its graceful curve.

“Oh, Stiles.” Deaton shook his head slowly and paced to the sink to fill the ancient copper kettle. “She didn’t practice magic. She was magic.” Smiling, he set the kettle on the stove and set the water to boil. “You are so much like her when you work; so much like her and so much more. It’s effortless for you; you don’t have to force the magic to obey you. You just ask and it leaps to do your bidding. Frankly, it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“Huh. I didn’t know. Dad never talks about mom and he never casts,” Stiles murmured listlessly. 

“He lost something when Claudia returned to the earth. Faith maybe.” Deaton hitched his shoulders in an uncharacteristic shrug, then swept the kettle off the stove and poured the near boiling water into a pair of mugs. He dropped a small muslin bag into each cup and handed one to Stiles. “But on your twelfth birthday he brought you to me. I choose to believe that means something.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it does.” Stiles blew across the top of his mug, then took a slow sip, closing his eyes to savor the bright burst of mint on his tongue. “So, you giving me this now… Does that mean that my training is complete?”

“It does,” Deaton said, nodding and offering Stiles a warm, smile, full of pride. “You’re going to do amazing things. Starting with the charm you plan to make for your wolf.” 

 

Stiles smiled, slow and soft. “He deserves a bit of peace and I’ll do everything in my power to give it to him, no matter what that might mean for me.” 

“That’s what made me decide to give you this tonight, rather than wait for your birthday. You’re ready.” 

“Yeah. I am.” Stiles slim arms strained as he lifted the chest to cradle it against his belly. “Thank you, Deaton,” he said as the man walked him to the door. 

“You’re very welcome, Stiles. Brightest blessings.”

“Brightest blessings,” the teen echoed as he stepped over the threshold and into the welcoming embrace of the moonlit night. 

+++

Two nights later, beneath the light of a full moon, Stiles knelt beneath the towering Nemeton, safe inside a ring of salt and blessed water, clothed in nothing but the sheer black robe from his mother’s chest. He placed three fat white candles at the trunk of the tree, lighting them with a whisper of thought as he opened the makeshift velvet bag and spilled the stones to the ground. They sparkled in the dancing light of the candles, then caught fire with a pulsing, inner glow as Stiles brushed the tip of his index finger across each in turn. 

Taking a deep, slow breath, Stiles swirled his fingers three times, deosil above the stones; the large amethyst trembled and Stiles eyes drifted closed at the pure, clean tone he felt, rather than heard, deep in his bones as it split in two. The halves rose off the ground to hover at eye level. Stiles pursed his lips and blew gently across the pieces; the tone rose in pitch as the twin pieces began to spin, faster and faster until they were a blur of shining violet that seemed to flow and shift before his eyes. Suddenly, they stopped and dropped to the ground; Stiles was left with two perfect wolves in repose, curved in such a way that they could be nestled together, their muzzles overlapping. 

Stiles rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight on his knees before picking up the round of clear quartz and a long, thin strand of gold. Humming under his breath, he looped the metal around the stone, caging it delicately; with a feather lite touch of will, he sealed the gold to the stone and created a loop through which he strung a slender strip of leather. He draped the newly made necklace over the statuettes, then palmed the rose quartz, splitting and shaping it with a thought until two perfect little spheres rested in his hand. He took the first and pressed it to the back of the top wolf, exhaling slowly as it sunk, to glow within the breast of the statuette. He repeated the process with the second piece and the second wolf. “For peace and strength of heart and mind,” he whispered. “For love of him I give of me, that he might know what it is to be cherished and held safe for all time.” 

Standing, he broke the circle, scattering the white grains of salt with a wave of his hand. Sound broke over him in a wave and he smiled sadly at the ululating howl echoing through the woods. Kissing two fingers, he pressed them to the trunk of the ancient tree and slipped away into the predawn light, as the mournful, lonely howl drew closer. 

+++

Derek crept toward the Nemeton, easing his big body through the dense undergrowth that ringed the small clearing around the ancient tree. Lifting his snout, the massive wolf scented the air, whining at the fresh, crisp scent of magic; beneath that bright tang, he picked up the scent of teenage boy, vaguely familiar and haunting. Dropping his muzzle, his eyes found the statuettes and he dropped to his belly, crawling forward until his nose bumped against the softly glowing amethyst; he snuffled against the warm stone, then snagged the leather cord with his teeth, lifting it delicately. Derek hooked the end of the thong around a short, low hanging branch then slipped his nose through the opening, wriggling until the leather slipped over his head; once it settled around his neck he backed up, yipping as the change swept over his body, leaving a trembling, naked man crouched where the wolf had been. 

Choking back a sob, he scrabbled at the pendant, clutched it tight in one big fist. “Gods. Oh, Gods.” Panting, he pressed the small hunk of quartz against the skin above his pounding heart; the beat settled, slowed and he relaxed by degrees, tension sliding out of his frame. Shaking, he carefully scooped up the nestled wolves, holding them close as he slipped away from the Nemeton.

+++

Derek hesitated at the end of the Stilinski’s drive, head canted to one side. From the backyard, drifted a low, wordlessly melodic song; it wrapped around the cracked and broken pieces of his self, knitting them together with warmth and a boundless, aching love. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, he set one foot in front of the other.

Rounding the edge of the house, Derek paused, breath catching. Beneath the dappled shade of an overhanging oak, Stiles knelt beside a little raised garden bed, his long fingers smoothing the rich, dark soil around the base of a small cluster of purple pansies.

“Hello, Derek,” he said softly, not looking up as he began digging another hole. 

“Stiles.” Jerkily, Derek moved to the teen’s side and knelt beside him in the grass to free another plant from the half-empty flat of flowers. 

“I love pansies,” Stiles murmured, taking the plant as Derek offered it, his dirt-caked fingers brushing over Derek’s. “They have these perfect little faces. Some people think they look sad but… To me, they seem to be smiling.” He set the root ball into the hole and Derek helped him fill in the hole.

“Like you. Even when you’re sad, you smile,” Derek whispered, voice rough with disuse. 

“Because I always have hope. Like, when you disappeared, I always hoped you’d come back. And you have.” Stiles glanced up at Derek and offered a small, sweet smile that blossomed into something wide and bright when Derek pressed his forehead against the teen’s temple.

“I’m sorry,” Derek whispered and swallowed passed the hard lump in his throat. 

“I’m not. You needed time to process. Your mom was amazing just like mine and losing her hurt in a way you weren’t prepared for. Trust me, Der, no matter how much time you have to accept the inevitable, you can’t ever prepare. Especially, not for a loss like that.”

“Still. I shouldn’t have left you the way I did. I shouldn’t have run. But once I started running, I couldn’t stop. I got lost and I couldn’t find my way back.” Derek pressed a dry kiss to Stiles’ temple and dug the next hole.

“But you did and really, that’s all that’s important.” Stiles pressed the next plant, a pretty little mix of white, yellow and purple, into Derek’s hands, watching as the wolf carefully planted it. 

“Only because of you. Only because you called me back. Why now?”

“Because it was time. Because I missed you and I was finally ready to let go of how angry I was and how hurt.”

Grunting, Derek sat back on his heels and swept his eyes over the small riotous little garden. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know. And you didn’t. Not really. My own expectations hurt me. I had to let go of a lot of…” Stiles shrugged. “I had to let go of what I wanted and needed. I had to learn to put others – to put you – first. If I hadn’t, I would never have been able to work the charm. It’ll take time, you know,” he said, brushing muddy fingers over Derek’s stubbled cheek. “For you to heal and I’ll be here. Waiting.” 

“Why?” Frowning, Derek pushed into the solid warmth of Stiles’ slim fingers until the teen cupped his cheek, thumb sweeping the soft skin just beneath the wolf’s eye. 

“Love, Der.” Stiles smiled tenderly and brushed a kiss across Derek’s chin, then spluttered, spitting out dirt. “For love.”


End file.
